chained to guilt 

"You don't know that." Dean exclaimed, he had the urge to grab her hands but knew it wasn't possible. "The world doesn't revolve around you, Adele. Not now, not then."

"But... he... Tom was my family, he went to my House, and he learned our way of thinking. They thought that way because of me. Maybe they twisted along the way but, it is my fault, Dean." Adele insisted. "Because of me... Slytherin students and Gryffindor students hate each other."

"Now wait a second... I don't hate them... they just, get on my nerves with their beliefs and their attitude of royalty." Dean explained.

"But they hate you. And it's because of your blood... the same blood that runs through their veins... and..."

"If you say it's your fault one more time I will hex you. I don't know how, but I will." He narrowed his eyes, pointing at Adele with his wand.

"It isn't Adele. It isn't your fault that your father went nuts, or that your brothers taught nonsense to their children, and they just twisted everything up. It isn't. Had... Voldemort been a descendant of your family or not, he was already messed up. It's not your fault that... that my father run away, and lied about his magic... that I had to run and hide." Dean chocked a little with his words.

"Dean... this guilt is my punishment... my chains, you don't need to..." Adele tried to explain but Dean started to talk again.

"It's no one's fault... if we start blaming people... we would never finish... It wasn't fair..." the tears were falling now; Adele felt the need to wipe them. "But it happened... and it wasn't your fault."

"Dean..." Adele whispered, now more than ever she missed the ability to cry. "I know... but I can't help it, I can't help to feel this way."

"Why me?" he interrupted her, lowering his wand. Not bothering to wipe his tears. He didn't want to admit it, but she had been right. He felt lighter, even if everything was the same.

"Why... you? What... Oh... I, I don't know... I've been around your generation and everyone had a way to... let go, of their feelings, their sadness. They were healing slowly. But you hanged on your pain, you kept it close. You reminded me of my family... I guess." Adele said, after thinking about it. She nodded. "Yeah, you reminded me of them. Bottling everything up until it's too much and... let it destroy you."

"That's why you asked me why I did not cry..." she nodded again."I don't want to cry every day." Dean frowned, sniffling. "It's messy and... "

"If you say girly I will pass through you, and make sure it's as unpleasant as it can be." She smiled softly. "You can do other things to ... ventilate your feelings."

"Like?" Adele ignored the bite on his question.

"Drawing, it seems like it's your thing."Her eyes focused once again on the portrait. "You're extremely good at it."

"But, the things that come to my mind aren't pretty at all." Dean said, looking down at his drawing. "This is actually the first draw I do since the war started..." he whispered.

"Who said it needed to be pretty?" She asked, gliding towards him once again. "The war isn't pretty. No one would expect the drawing about it to be..."

"Wouldn't it work like the saying, if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all?" He tried to humour the topic, feeling the stung of the tears once more. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered. And it hurt.

"I don't think so." Adele smiled. "Let's do this... why don't you go and try to rest? You are on overload of information right now... and a few steps away of a mental breakdown. And I don't want to add that to my chains." She joked, or at least she tried to. Dean stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

"Will I see you again?" She blinked, confused before nodding. "Then... See you tomorrow... or later."

Dean stood up and sighed, again, he did felt lighter. He was still confused, about a lot of things. Why Adele had decided to show up? Why she told him those things? Why he had reacted that way? They were too many why's and his head was about to explode. Maybe she was right and he was about to have a mental breakdown, but... why now? It had been months since the war, since everything ended.

He was thinking too much. He needed to sleep. Hopefully, the nightmares would spare him the visit.

Dean slept until noon that Sunday and he would have probably slept through the day if it wasn't for Seamus, who woke him up for lunch. He was silent while eating, and avoided eye contact with his friends and the rest of Gryffindor table. His head wasn't as clear as he wished for the last night, but at least he wasn't as confused as he felt with Adele on that corridor. He wondered if now that she had showed herself to him - and knew he wasn't the only one who knew about her - she would be a common ghost to see around.

His answer came through the week, when he didn't see her once.

He brood about her story between classes and almost every moment he had free. He hadn't shared it with anyone yet, despite Ginny's pleading eyes. The small pangs on his chest when she did that brought back memories that turned into smoke as soon as she mentioned Harry. Adele's voice in the back on his head kept asking him why he didn't cry. And he hated to admit that she was right. It was petty, and he knew that. But he felt that way, the war stole from him too much, and he included Ginny in that.

Many if's run through his mind.

If his father hadn't run.

If her mother was a witch.

If Voldemort had never rise.

If Adele was never murdered.

If muggles didn't fear them.

If. If. If.